`What the hell are you talking about?' Bushell shrugged his shoulders. `I can't think of another name for it. I was looking out of the window last night watching birds flying from building to building...' `Fucking hell,' Jones interrupted, `he's lost it. I've long had my doubts about him but I think he's finally lost it...' `I was watching the birds,' Bushell continued, ignoring him, `and I started thinking about the difference between us and the animals. Seems to me there's one huge difference that doesn't often get talked about.' He paused to give the others opportunity to make a cheap joke or to throw another insult in his direction. Unusually they were silent. `The difference is,' he explained, `that we know we're eventually going to die and they don't. Animals strut about the place thinking they're going to go on forever, we spend our lives worrying about how they're going to end. That's what I mean when I talk about the human condition. We're too preoccupied thinking about death to enjoy life.' There followed an unusually long moment of contemplation and reflection which was only disturbed when Proctor remembered the bodies on the stairs. `That's all well and good,' he said anxiously, `but what are you going to do now?
What do You think about Autumn: The Human Condition?
